


Repercussions and Rewards

by sushicorps (Inclinant)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Actually has more plot than porn, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Teasing, post ep 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8603875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inclinant/pseuds/sushicorps
Summary: “I thought the kiss was my surprise?”“It was - but this, this is your reward."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hate this anime. Also unbeta-ed because my beta spent the whole day laughing over the fact I wrote a yoi fic.

 

It takes all of his strength to stay still all through the medal ceremony and the celebratory dinner that he gets dragged to.

 

He should be falling asleep any time now, what with the food and the dim lighting, for all that Chris is yelling something at Viktor who is laughing away, too many drinks spread between them. Opposite the table, Leo is talking animatedly about a new music of his to Guang Hong who has a pork bun stuffed in his mouth but is listening raptly and Phichit….well, of course, he’s instagramming every moment of this.

 

Yuuri is pretty sure he is running completely on adrenaline now, there’s no other reason it. He stifles a yawn and curls up a little more into Viktor’s side and fishes out his phone. He navigates through the various news pages almost by instinct, reading over the sports headlines with bleary eyes, scrolling down through the pictures until it hits him-

 

Oh right, of course the competition was being filmed-

 

He stares right back down at the HD zoomed in hyper close-up of Viktor kissing him.

 _  
_ And of course, Yuuri reacts in a totally calm and rational manner.

 

Yeah and Viktor is definitely the most humble person on Earth, his brain chimes in.

 

Okay, so he nearly tips the wooden booth they’re seated in over and does actually hit his head on the wooden engraved edge as he shoots up from his seat and his horrified shriek of _Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ makes the entire restaurant freeze in their place and stare at them but-

 

“V-v-v-v-v-Viktor…YOU KISSED ME ON LIVE TV?!”

 

Around the table, everyone falls silent, then shrug and go, “Well, _yeah._ ”

 

“Considering the photos from the Japan Nationals and from the hotpot restaurant, it’s actually a lot more tame,” Phichit adds cheerily and Yuuri resists the urge the facepalm the table. “Yuuri, you have all the luck with photos it seems!”

 

Okay, he wants to do a lot more than to facepalm the table. Like get swallowed into the ground, maybe.

 

“I think Yuuri’s too tired,” Viktor declares, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s side and pulling him in a little even as he pushes both of them up to their feet. The rest of them nod and chorus goodbyes and see you again next season as they clamber out of the large wooden booth, because it’s never really goodbye when they all lived for the same rinks.

 

The rest of the restaurant is still shooting them covert looks and so maybe Yuuri cowers a bit behind Viktor, just a bit. See, handsome foreign men could get away with a lot it seemed, so he had learned, what with Viktor practically taking over Hasetsu with his charms or whatnot. Well, he’d certainly made away with his heart- wait what, no, nono _nono-_

 

“You make sure your student gets some rest, coach?” Chris chimes in, eyeing Viktor with a smirk on his face. “ _Proper_ rest. He’s still got the Russia cup coming up.”

 

Viktor laughs and doesn’t even bother to turn back as he leaves.

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri, you worry too much,” Viktor says as he bundles him past the door of their hotel room, sitting him down on the bed even as he peels off his coat and tosses it over a chair.

 

“Didn’t I tell you? No one will pay any attention to it - I’ve always done what I want, that’s what the reporters will say after our interview. I made sure of it. I’m Russian after all, they’ll say. It’s just Viktor Nikiforov again and they’ll brush it off....”

 

“Unless... you didn’t like the kiss-”

 

He pouts and woah, that’s a deadly weapon waiting to be classified right there.

 

“No, no no no, I did, it was just, surprising, after all-” Yuuri runs a hand over his face. He’d been so, so happy because he had been so worried about what Viktor would feel - still sad at it all, or mad at him, or _what??_ He couldn’t remember much of the free skate at all, except his rollercoaster ride of emotions, but that was what had distracted him from the fatigue, from the skating and the crowd and the trip-ups...distracted till all the jumps came smooth and natural, until the quad flip, where he’d only had Viktor in his mind.

 

Viktor settles down on the bed beside him, lays one hand over his. “Well, you did surprise me. That quadruple flip at the end, were you trying to impress me?”

 

His voice lilts up in a joking manner, but Yuuri’s heart leaps and catches in his throat and he can’t help but confess.

 

“I...well, yeah….yeah I was.”

 

It’s embarrassing to say out loud.

 

“I wasn’t sure if you were still sad or mad at me - I did miss all those jumps, and didn’t quite land the quad at the end, but all I could think of was wanting to be stronger and be better, be a skater you could be proud of-” His words are cut off with an _eep!_ as Viktor all but tackles him down onto the bed, laughing into his shoulder.

 

“I thought the kiss was my surprise?” Yuuri says teasingly. Above him, Viktor’s smile softens and he cards his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, in the soothing motions that relaxes him the most.

 

“It was - but this, this is your reward.”

 

“For winning silver?”

 

Viktor shakes his head.

 

“For impressing me.”

 

There’s a hand sliding down his jacket, long fingers singeing as they dance down the thin fabric.

 

“For jumping the quad flip.”

 

There’s a knee edging up between his legs, spreading his thighs, reaching up to grind at the heat that’s pooling in his groin.

 

“For going on to the Rostelecom Cup.”

 

Viktor tilts Yuuri’s chin up and takes his mouth into a crushing kiss.

 

It’s driving him wild, all heat and friction and Viktor all around him and Yuuri’s arms go around the other to capture or to draw him closer, he doesn’t know, but he just wants _more_. More of Viktor, all of Viktor; he’s the only one who knows Viktor’s love, after all, he’s the only one who can satisfy him-

 

“I’ve wanted this since the short programme,” Viktor gasps as he breaks for air, panting against Yuuri, pupils blown with a dark, eager light glinting at the corners that Yuuri’s starting to be familiar with and it sends a thrilling hum shooting through his blood, gut curling with promise-

 

“Yuuri, “ Viktor begins slowly, fingers trailing down his sides in torturously slow and Yuuri twists, squirms under his touch. He dimly wonders when Viktor had got his jacket off but then the thought vanishes in a bright flare of heat as Viktor noses into his belly, nipping and lapping circles at the skin like pinpricks of fire, going lower and lower and tugging the hem of his sweatpants down-

 

“Do you know what it feels like to see you skating,” Viktor tilts his head up, silvery hair falling down over his eyes, a mischievous light in them and Yuuri groans. His legs are already thrown wide open, cock straining against the fabric of his sweatpants, already leaking - it’s an impossibly lewd picture but still Viktor is merciless.

 

“In my old costume, performing _Eros_ ,” He drags his pants down further, just low enough to let a cool wash of the air-conditioning slide across now exposed skin like an ice blade. The edge of Viktor’s nails scrape against the heat of his inner thigh like streaks of lightning.

 

“Just for me.”

 

Viktor leans down and grazes the tip of his cock with his teeth. Yuuri barely chokes back a scream.

 

“Viktor, _please!”_

 

“You didn’t think I’ll let you go without a bit of punishment, did you?”

 

The unfairness of it all is that Yuuri can’t even reply, beyond a desperate hitching of his hips because he needs, so much-

 

“For not listening to your coach. You never listen to me-”

 

_“VIK-TO-R”_

 

Everything stops.

 

“Yes, yes…” Viktor says and has the gall to flip his hair to the side  in that dramatic way he always does. Yuuri somehow manages to pull a face despite it all but Viktor’s laughing now and it’s not the hollow one he doles out so often, but warm and soft and real and it makes Yuuri’s heart melt.

 

“Yuuri, tell me what you want.”

 

What does he want? He wants so much. He wants Viktor touching him, holding him, kissing him, in him, carving his presence into him as if to stamp that Yuuri is his across his body; but he also wants to yell to the world that Viktor is his, and his alone, wishes that he could grab a mic and tell it to everyone, on live TV if he has to, not cover it up in ridiculous half-truths and could-bes and maybes. But he can’t, because he can’t risk anything now for the Grand Prix Finals, because that’s his goal, that’s Viktor’s goal too, it’s the reason why Viktor is with him in the first place...

 

...Right?

 

So he closes his eyes and says the only thing that really matters.

 

“You.”

 

Viktor smiles.

 

“Okay.”

 

He lets Yuuri yank him down by his collar and press their lips, tongue, _everything,_ together even as their hands grapple to yank off Viktor’s shirt - oops there goes a button that he’ll have to sew back later - and fight with his belt.

 

Somewhere in-between all that, Viktor has somehow managed to get Yuuri's shirt and pants off too, the cold air a shock from the building heat that makes Yuuri gasp and still for a moment, a moment long enough to catch his heart thumping in his chest so loud and so hard he thinks it’ll jump right out.

 

It’s unbearable.

 

“Yuuri…?” Viktor starts and Yuuri starts to shake his head but he’s suddenly taken with a mad urge to touch Viktor, all of him, now laid bare for him in the dim light. So he reaches up wildly, (childishly, impatiently), but it’s okay because Viktor meets him in the middle.

 

He curls a hand into Viktor’s hair, the silvery blond ever so soft, and runs his other down the other’s bare top, luxuriating in the coiled, lean muscle that shudders beneath his fingertips and Viktor’s soft groans from where he is nipping at Yuuri’s ear.

 

It is the unmistakable physique of a figure skater, no, a _top_ figure skater, a perfect physique that had always taken everything Yuuri had to fight for. Something that he’d always thought came so easily to someone like Viktor Nikiforov, like everything else, but that was before he had seen the other skate and jump and fall and falter before his very eyes.

 

Viktor’s not perfect and Yuuri far from is, but maybe one day he’ll be a better skater, a better man for him.

 

But for now, maybe it’s just as well that the perfect Viktor Nikiforov always thinks of everything, Yuuri thinks as Viktor dramatically fishes out a bottle of lube from the side table

 

It’s the last thing he ends up thinking for quite a while.

 

* * *

 

After, when it’s all over, in a blinding flash of white and heat and pleasure, Yuuri curls up into Viktor’s side, too spent to care about the stickiness, and lets the other brush his sweaty hair from his forehead to kiss him goodnight.

  
Tomorrow, they’ll start to prepare for the Rostelecom Cup.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be longer but uh halfway through I remembered I really should be studying for my exams instead.
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://sushicorps.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sushicorps/)


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